He was the All-American boy: blue eyed captain of the football team, son of a prominent lawyer, and the desire of every girl around him.

I was an awkward introvert with braces and boobs that got bigger every day.

He lived in my neighborhood. Sometimes he walked to the creek with me and we talked. Wanting to be wanted, I invited him over to watch a movie when my mom was gone.

He put a hand over my mouth and told me I would never say anything about what he was going to do if I knew what was good for me.

He raped me. I was 15.

I was too shocked to move. I tried to scream, to speak, but the words got lost in my vocal chords.

It took me almost five years to tell anyone. It took almost five years of struggling with chronic depression, anorexia, and self-hatred for me to realize that it wasn't my fault.

Don't wait five years. Don't wait five minutes. Please, speak out.